


Divine Satisfaction

by SpiderKatana



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: A Whole Thot, Alternate Universe - Priests, Anal Play, Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Church Sex, Crossdressing, Exhibitionism, Forbidden Love, Have You Ever Heard Of Anal Flirting?, He Just Wants The D, Lingerie, M/M, Oral Sex, Parishioner!Wade, Sacrilege, THIS ACTUALLY IS BETA'D, These boys are stupid in love, Thot!Wade, Wade Isn't Even Religious, priest!peter, religious repression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-26 10:00:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21967483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpiderKatana/pseuds/SpiderKatana
Summary: Wade's been obsessed with Father Parker for years- six years. He would have moved on; he would have learned to let him go eventually.The problem was that the priest made it incredibly obvious that the obsession ran both ways.He didn't have the self-restraint to keep his needs to himself forever when he had a clear shot at satisfaction.AKA the one where Wade lubes up before late night mass and shows up full of his favorite toy, putting on a quiet show for Father Parker while the priest tries- and fails- to keep his shit together. And everything that comes after.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Comments: 42
Kudos: 303
Collections: Spideypool Priest Fest 2019





	1. For Yours Is The Kingdom Of Heaven

Walking was… distinctly uncomfortable. Wade had chosen the largest of his personal plugs and having something that thick and deep wedged up his ass didn't exactly make moving around upright an easy task. It had already been awkward enough to call Dopinder to give him a ride to the church-- Wade didn't want a repeat experience of having a plug accidentally hit a spot it wasn't supposed to in a vehicle with freakin' _Dopinder_. Would not recommend; it was the salt free cracker of sexual experiences. Zero stars-- but Wade felt like being forced to walk a block on his own after the guy almost killed them in an accident just added insult to injury. 

Every step he took shifted the plug, and Wade gracelessly angled the duffle bag at his side to rest behind him instead just in case the base of the thing slid far enough to be visible through his pants. He had brought a change of clothes-- one could only hope that this time around his flirting would _work._

He hadn't been serious about the teasing remarks originally-- he flirted with anyone that seemed willing to joke around with him. Father Parker just seemed to be the humorous type. He laughed at Wade's jokes, he rolled his eyes when Wade was being ridiculous and singing obnoxiously during the _let's face the fact that this is divine karaoke, people_ parts of mass. 

Petey-- _Father Petey--_ understood him and got along with him and defended his method of worship to the rest of the attendees. 

_People communicate with God through different methods, Margaret. Perhaps Mr. Wilson simply shares a closer, less traditional bond with our lord._

Peter had also pointedly ignored Wade's quiet, "Mr. Wilson would like to share a 'closer, less traditional bond' with _you,"_ but that was to be expected. They _had_ been in the middle of service after all. And Margaret had hated him ever since. Not that Wade cared-- pruney old bitch hated everyone. 

The _point was_ that his favorite priest had merely been eye candy during the first service. And then he'd taken a good full look at Wade's scars during the karaoke part and _smiled at him._ He had been welcoming, stopped him from leaving the church the moment mass was over and asked him if he was new to the parish, if he had enjoyed himself and felt illuminated by the service at all. Wade… had not. It wasn't anyone's fault, the stares of the people around him just made it hard to pay attention-- but Peter didn't seem to mind the honesty. He had offered Wade his hand to shake, wished him Happy Holidays and said he hoped Wade would give his parish a second opportunity to prove they were devout subjects. 

Wade hadn't cared about the people. He had returned because no one ever treated him like a person upon first glance. They might feel bad later, they might rush through a transaction after gasping in shock, they might even jump back and _profusely_ apologize for their reaction-- but they didn't just stop, take a second to get used to him, and then smile and act friendly. Father Parker's approach was… different. Human. _Kind._ So Wade returned. 

He kept coming back and getting smiles out of it, volunteering to help this priest out because the poor guy was obviously stressed between all the _weddings_ and _funerals_ his church hosted, given its size and proximity to the inner city. Wade helped with all of the bake sales, hosted the annual carnival in the parking lot, the choir rehearsals, gave rides that the kids needed to get to and from Sunday school before late mass. 

He did _everything_ to get a smile out of Father Parker until he realized that the fluttering sensation in his chest was _far beyond simple appreciation_ and he'd accidentally bared his heart to _a priest who could never reciprocate._

He'd been entirely prepared to pine his life away for another five years until one drunken night in Weasel's bar, when the fucker listened to him wax poetic about Father Parker for the last time and finally hit Wade with the line, "Four in every five Catholic priests are gay, just find out if he's one of them, Jesus Christ. Get him a gay porn magazine. _Something_ , just shut the fuck up already-- he's not your Juliet, and she died anyway so unless you plan to kill him-" 

Wade had damn near killed _Weasel_ that night for the implication that he would ever even _consider_ hurting Peter. But after that, the flirting game began. 

At first, Father Parker would just squint in confusion, slowly replying with a casual joke of his own to diffuse the suddenly charged atmosphere. When Wade grew less subtle, Father Parker began setting him up for one on one tasks with single men in the parish, hoping to deflect his attention. When Wade didn't give up, Father Parker flirted back under the _wildly mistaken_ assumption that Wade just needed to get it out of his system. When Wade _explicitly_ made confessions about wanting his priest to bend him over the altar and make himself at home inside of him-- Wade heard what sounded like a downright _painful_ swallow on the other side of the confession booth, and then a simple hoarse reply of, "Five hail Mary's." 

Wade almost gave up hope then, dejectedly sighing to himself and remaining seated for a moment, expecting the priest to leave. 

His mind all but stopped functioning right when he heard the shaky voice of his crush, quietly reciting the Hail Mary Prayer on his side of the booth. Peter paused, and Wade picked up the prayer in the silence. Together they recited the prayer once, twice, five times. 

Father Parker, to Wade's knowledge, did not join men in prayer when they were asking for forgiveness. No priest did. It was a moment between those wishing for absolution and God. What Wade was guilty of weighed heavy on Peter's mind as well and though it went against so many Catholic morals… Wade let himself hope. 

His hope grew with every sermon. His eyes would linger on the man of his affections, on the altar, on the high table and the prayer banks at the front of the church hall, picturing exactly how Father Parker would move, how he would lose control over his own body, how he would tell Wade they had no reason to seek absolution. It was a fantasy, but it was all his. 

Except for the fact that Peter's eyes lingered on him during services, returned to him anytime he looked up, his teeth catching his lower lip quickly, nervously, anytime Wade looked at him like tasting him would be comparable to a heavenly experience. Wade had lost track of the number of times he had seen Father Parker tug at his collar after noticing Wade leaning forward on the backrests of the bench in front of him, chin resting on his palm with an absolutely _lovestruck_ look on his face. 

He'd _almost_ thought it was a movement Peter reserved only for him, something only _he_ could provoke. He was mistaken there, too. _In the best of ways._

Father Parker only did the collar thing when Wade was looking at him _and_ … when one of the nuns walked by in an outfit that might have been a little too tight. Wade was _insanely_ jealous the first time he noticed, but the feeling died down when he realized that the collar tug happened with the visiting nuns during church functions as well. It had nothing to do with the women; it was the _outfit._

Cue the uncomfortable walk to the late night mass and the duffel bag with a change of clothes. His pants hid the lacy thigh highs well enough, but he wasn't going to delude himself into thinking he could get away with an obscenely cut nun outfit during service. Sacrifices had to be made in the name of general decency. Wade had _standards._

When he arrived, Peter was already in the middle of his sermon. 

What Wade wasn't expecting was for Peter to keep glancing at the front row, his hand gripping the cover of his favored bible tightly as he read on in a joyless tone, completely different from his usual demeanor. 

Wade felt a tug at the corner of his lips as he tried to force down the guilty smile growing on his face. Peter's eyes kept falling on Wade's usual spot, as if he couldn't stop himself from looking and wondering where he was, as if he, too, felt relieved every time he saw him, felt the same ache settle underneath his skin. 

Wade wanted to sit in the front row as always, as close to Father Parker as possible, to bask in his warmth and the sight of his smile up close, to watch the way his hands moved when he talked, to see the little wrinkles at the corners of his eyes whenever he became amused by Wade's antics. 

However, wants and _needs_ did not result in the same things, and Wade couldn't very well shuffle down the center aisle with a duffle bag behind his ass and lube trailing down his inner thighs. It was tempting to have Father Parker fuck him on the altar for all to see, but Wade wasn't the best at handling public humiliation in case the priest _didn't want to,_ so pass on the kinky, he _would_ sin today. He had made PLANS. Intricate, not-very-well-thought-out, _plans!_

Wade took careful, measured steps down the left wing church entrance and gingerly took a seat, making himself comfortable and sucking in a deep breath when the shift in position dug the plug in deeper. He was stretched to the brim and wet, and he had barely managed to keep himself from getting off to the thought of Father Parker in his apartment before the service. He’d been _achingly hard_ long before he left his place, keeping his hands from straying because he wasn’t going to come tonight unless it was into blessed palms. 

His resolve splintered and cracked under the spell of Father Parker’s voice ringing out from the speakers. Concern weighed heavy on his words, but his volume was still measured, the sound of his phrases were soft-- almost delicate, as if he wanted to impart a sonorous message, a glimmer of light in the darkness of the hearts of newcomers and of men like Wade… as if he needed that decibel, that resonance to echo against marble walls and colorful glass, as if the blues and reds of the high church windows could reflect his delivery, could make him revive his slipping faith. 

Wade had obviously missed the beginning of the story of Matthew-- he knew the words by heart, and he often mouthed along with Father Parker’s sermons, pretending that if they spoke the same words, if their mouths moved in the same way, if he mirrored every single syllable he could note, then he could hope for the day he’d taste Peter’s lips as he gasped out the same pretty verses. It didn’t matter what they were, just the sound of his obsession murmuring them was enough for Wade to shiver in the privacy of his back seat, his pants painfully tight for multiple reasons. 

“Blessed are the poor in spirit…” 

Wade pressed his legs together tightly, as his dick twitched from its confined position. 

_“For theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven,”_ he finished under his breath, following along as he made tiny, discrete little movements to shift the tip of his plug against his prostate. Tiny electric pulses were running up his spine, but he tried his _best_ to stay still. He wanted Peter inside of him and he wanted to be _ready for his Kingdom of Heaven._

“Blessed are those who mourn…” 

Wade bit his lip and gripped the backrest of the polished cherry wood bench in front of him, grateful that the church was large enough for the last nine or ten rows to remain perpetually empty. He didn’t get the chance to mouth along with Peter, but belatedly he murmured, “For… for they will be comforted.” _Dear God, if he existed, Wade wanted the holy comfort of Father Parker’s hands gripping his inner thighs and spreading his legs apart._

Peter’s eyes fell back on the front row and he faltered, clearing his throat after a moment and focusing back on the passage as Wade spread his thighs a few inches and ground down against his seat. He should have brought a dildo or a vibrator or something that made getting off _easier,_ but he’d promised himself that this would be his day. He’d been waiting for Father Parker to approach him for _years,_ to mark him and use him and end his commitment to purity. He would have believed the poor priest didn’t want him if he hadn’t made a habit of praying with Wade, and _only_ _Wade,_ during and after confessions. He would have believed it if he didn’t see the lingering glances, the expectant and beaming smile whenever Wade showed up early to the late mass. He would have believed it if Wade wasn’t the first person Peter went to for all the church projects, the one he relied on, the one he sought out. If Father Parker didn’t want him, Wade would cheerfully declare himself insane. 

“Blessed are the meek--” 

Wade shifted his hips forward, expecting a slight brush of the plug against his prostate, but he _clearly_ miscalculated and his legs were further spread out than before and he felt a harsh hit against the spot that stole his air and took complete control of his vocal chords. The _whine_ he let out sounded stunned and almost _wounded,_ and while many people turned to glare at him for interrupting mass with what they must have guessed was another set up for a joke, Father Parker’s eyes lit up in recognition and relief and then the light in them faded into a softly burning look of concern. 

The furrow in his brow became less deep when Wade held his gaze and managed to find his voice long enough to complete the line aloud, “For they will inherit the earth.” _For I will offer myself up to you._

A gentle smile graced Peter’s face as he nodded, pride shining through him as he stood up straighter, spoke a little louder, made animated motions with his hands the way he normally did. 

Wade stretched his arms over his head, resting against the backrest of his bench when the curious and uptight people stopped glaring at him, and closed his eyes as he listened to Father Parker’s next line. He perted his own lips to speak the verse at the same time. 

_“Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be_ **_filled.”_ **

Wade clenched down around his toy and clenched his teeth, one hand reaching straight down against the edge of his bench for something to grip and his other one slipping into his pants, past the point of giving a shit if he was caught as he gripped himself and squeezed at his erection through the lacy fabric of his new lingerie set, letting go after a moment and gripping the bench with both hands. Every time he spread his legs further the straps of his thigh highs dug a tiny bit more into his skin and left him a sensitive _mess._ Wade fucking thirsted for righteousness, alright. He’d been thirsting for _six years, he was ready to be filled._

His heart was working double time to keep his blood flow working, and Wade absently wondered how much of that was being directed toward his cock. He wanted to wait until he was fucked but just the sound of Peter's voice was already driving Wade past the point of human capacity. He was quickly approaching a limit he never realized he had and wasn’t sure how public the finale would be. 

“Blessed are the merciful, for they… will receive mercy.” 

Wade opened his eyes, just a delirious little half-lidded peek at the altar and there Peter was, hesitating and struggling to focus on his sermon because Wade probably looked like he was falling asleep or sick because of the sweating. 

He could read Peter like an open book-- _is he okay? He looks tired, he never falls asleep during mass. Does he need a medic? Does he have a fever? Why would he come to church if he had a fever--_ and as if on cue, he saw Peter’s lips part a fragment of an inch in some kind of realization. The wrong realization most likely but true all the same. _I came here for you._ _God, please have mercy on my soul._

The only difference was that it wasn’t a great hardship; Wade wasn’t sick. Well… perhaps in terms of Catholicism he did harbor a sickness in his heart, but Wade wasn’t devout. He loved the idea of a merciful God, he loved the idea of being worthy of absolution, he loved the notion that even he could be welcomed into the gates of paradise-- above it all, stood his love for the priest who taught him all the phrases, who gifted him a bible, who sat beside him on the days when his mutation made him feel like an abomination, who offered him a hand to hold when he struggled to keep the tears from falling. A man who never offered such close encounters to anyone else and kept theirs hidden away like a fragile secret. 

“Blessed--” Peter paused and then rushed through the words, flustered, hands back in front of him, gripping the bible once more. “Blessed are the pure in heart for they will see God, Bless-- blessed are the peacemakers for they will be called the children of God…” 

He’d been stubbornly staring down at the passage until he made the mistake of looking up as Wade pressed his thighs back together and felt the silky smooth sensation of his thigh highs dragging lightly at the top of his thighs where the straps strained to keep from snapping. He shivered and raised his palm over his mouth to keep any sounds from escaping when the plug shifted a couple centimeters deeper from all his squirming. His new pair of lacy underwear had to be _ruined_ with the amount of precum he felt himself leaking, and he’d just been trying to keep himself quiet. 

He could only guess from the way Peter gnawed at his bottom lip that he assumed Wade felt nauseous. Wade wanted to ruin the man, to taste him and feel every inch of him inside and show him what heaven among the living was like. 

Father Parker’s eyes did not leave Wade as he recited the rest of the lines from memory, prayers he’d long since learned for his own benefit, mantras they’d both learned to rely on. 

“Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake,” Peter said, his worried features taking in Wade’s weak smile and the way he quietly followed along. “For theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven.” 

This was Wade’s favorite passage, he wondered if Peter could tell. He wondered if he chose it for him when his eyes shone with earnestness as he claimed, “Blessed are you when people revile you.” 

Wade trembled in place, realizing Father Parker knew how much the following lines meant to Wade, his voice deepening as he said them, his tone so sure it could have been a declaration of war. 

“Blessed are you when they persecute you.” 

Wade felt his breaths coming short, and he couldn’t stop himself anymore, right hand slipping into the back of his pants, past the thin layer of lace, fingers catching on his rim, heat rushing to his face as he tried his best to keep his mouth shut and his eyes on Father Parker. 

Peter saw him focusing, saw he had his attention, and smiled softly in response as he assured Wade-- because there was no denying that the words gracing the mass were spoken for Wade and Wade alone, “Blessed are you-- when they utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account.” 

Wade inhaled, trying to catch his breath and failing as his fingers prodded at his entrance, taking hold of the base of his plug and carefully pulling at it. Wade shifted his hips up, his legs shaking with his efforts as Father Parker grew _visibly_ confused at his movements, trying to piece something together and not quite seeing what Wade intended for him to see. Wade loved hearing those verses from Father Parker’s lips. He didn’t believe any God would ever truly forgive him for his sins, but when Peter spoke on his behalf-- when he said that those who judged Wade did not have any effect on _his_ judgement, that Wade was blessed in spite of those that would have him persecuted… Wade became the sum of his own weaknesses. 

“Rejoice…” Peter started again, looking down at his passage now to gather his attention. Wade listened to him speak, keeping his white-knuckle grip on the based of the plug and he lifted himself up inch by inch. The sound of his hole stretching around the widest part of the plug was _obscene,_ and Wade was panting at the slight burn that came with the action, legs shaking almost violently as he held himself a good five inches over the bench, his waistband digging painfully into his skin. It didn’t matter, hardly even registered as Wade focused on intaking deep breaths of air, watching Peter speak and waiting for the moment that those pretty brown doe eyes landed on him once more. “And be glad, for your reward is great in heaven, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you.” 

Peter’s head turned to the side to send the signal to the choir for the start of one of the songs.

Wade tried to be patient, he _really did,_ but there was only so much strength one could expect from a man. Wade was only human, and he was on the edge of insanity as it was-- another moment of self-restraint and tears would have spilled down his cheeks. 

Wade bit his lip, kept the toy lined up with his hole and sunk down like he’d been craving it for ages. He wasn’t soft or careful, brutally fucking himself down on his plug and feeling the stretch of the thickest part of it catch on his rim only a couple times before he slammed down his hips, eyes rolling back in his head and a violent twitch rocking over his torso as his vision went white and his body spasmed to the sound of _Ave Maria._

He took in a single, desperately shaky inhale before he opened his eyes, realizing he came in his pants. His body was still sensitive and shivering, he could feel his nipples brushing against his shirt and the plug still firmly pressed against his prostate as lube dribbled out from between his cheeks making him struggle to breathe right. 

Then he levelled a half-lidded gaze at Father Parker and realized Peter was already watching him, tone of voice low as he forced himself to carry on with his false, pure image for those within the hall despite being hyper focused on the view, his eyes dilated and his lips parted just enough for him to get away with. Wade grinned and licked over his lips slowly, letting his tongue slip back into his mouth and press at the side of his cheek to mimic what he looked like during a blowjob, winking when Peter swallowed uneasily and his skin flushed a pretty pink in front of many, many people that held him as the paragon of a righteous man. 

Peter had to grip the podium during the rest of the service, one hand accidentally making the wood creak under his strength loudly enough for the people in the service to send each other concerned glances-- whispers echoed throughout the church about Father Parker's health and the glazed look in his eyes. They wondered if he was sick, if he had a fever, if he needed to be restricted to bed rest. 

_Wade would be happy to put Father Parker to rest, to wear him out and taste him until his energy grew thin, until he had no waking words to spare, until he'd screamed the name of his God in vain and shredded all his vows to match the scratch marks_ _Wade would leave on his skin._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's still Christmas in California, I'm not late for my deadline, I'm early and we can fight! 
> 
> ANYWAY, hope you guys like this one. (THANK YOU JENN, I LOVE YOU ISTG, BEST BETA I WOULD HAVE DIED ALONE)
> 
> Love, 
> 
> Katana.


	2. For Mine Is The Kingdom Of Heaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade's only path towards satisfaction is a string of Hail Mary's and Father Parker quotes scripture into his ear.

Several feelings warred within Peter’s soul as he finished the final service that day. He was aroused, infuriated, _terrified,_ shocked, but above all… he was resigned. He couldn’t bare to resist temptation any longer and Wade knew it. He knew it when he made his plan to show up and spread his legs beneath the eyes of God solely because Peter was at the altar. He knew it when he threw his head back in ecstasy, his face flushed, his throat bared to the world as he fought not to groan, as he closed his eyes knowing full well that Peter would look at him, that Peter could _never stop looking at him._ He knew it when he opened half-lidded eyes and looked at Peter, smiling that smug little smile because he knew exactly how badly Peter wanted him, moving his tongue to show him what he could have if he only let himself cave under the force of his desires for laying with another man, with one very specific… very _insistent_ man. 

He was rather disappointed when he didn’t see Wade among the crowd or staying behind. He’d constructed a plan in his head, but it seemed now that Wade had put all his cards on the table he expected to be pursued. Peter… he couldn’t fault Wade for it, no matter how immensely frustrating it was. Here he was, aching in his robes because of Wade’s _public_ actions and the object of his affection had bolted before Peter even had an opportunity to respond in a more… _private_ setting. 

He had to ball his fists into his sleeves and send polite, strained smiles to everyone as they passed him by, as they walked out of his church. _Why were there so many people?_ Ordinarily, he was more than happy to accommodate the people that showed up with their families to listen to the word of God and tried to apply those morals and lessons to their own lives. Today was not an ordinary day. 

He would resign, he had to resign. Sacrilege was tempting but he couldn’t go on and break his vows if Wade wasn’t present for him to do so with. There was no point in any of it without Wade at his side, and Peter was ashamed of how long it took him to realize the truth of that statement. 

He waited in the doorway until the very last person had exited the building, and he locked the entryway shut. Wade wasn’t coming back tonight. If he’d been planning on staying, he would have walked to the confessional booth on the far left of the church hall, their tradition. 

Dejectedly, Peter made his way to the altar, prepared to write a letter to his Bishop, prepared to give up the life he’d grown accustomed to. 

He walked to the front of the church, paused at the glimmer of movement in his peripheral and made a strangled sound when he caught sight of Wade hidden behind one of the marble pillars, kneeled before the front private prayer altar, knees only a few inches apart on the cushion, elbows rested on the metal railing, face illuminated by the warm candlelight in honor of the saints. His eyes, that shining shade of blue he always found so captivating, fell shut at the sound of footsteps and Peter’s lips parted at the view of his most faithful parishioner in the outfit of his guilty wet dreams.

Peter instantly became rock hard in his robes, resenting the fact that he’d only started wearing them because they hid the ill-timed erections caused by Wade’s… suggestions during his confessions. 

He didn’t take off his robes, but he did pace forward slowly, slipping out of his shoes but still not walking quietly enough to remain unnoticed. He wanted Wade to hear him, he wanted him to tense at the prayer bank and shiver, he wanted him to feel like he was going insane with anticipation, to feel like he’d earned it because Peter had waited _so long to touch his skin_ and he would be damned if he didn’t get to make Wade experience what felt like an eternity. 

He had to admire all the effort Wade put in for him. He had the traditional black veil that settled low upon his shoulders, the white shoulder brace that many nuns had forsaken during modern times, even the sleeves were exactly as silky and long as the usual silhouette, coming to an end at his wrists, right where Wade’s hands were clasped together around the old rosary Peter gave him back when he’d first joined the parish, not realizing he required beads to follow along with the prayer circle. 

The skirt even flared out at his waist. While he was wider than most of the nuns Peter had ever met, he was also _deliciously_ toned, adorned with muscles and soft skin. Peter was aware that most people did not find Wade’s skin attractive, but Peter had scars of his own and knew just how soft scar tissue would feel under his fingertips, in the palm of his hand, under the soft trace of his thumb as he explored every inch of the man he’d been craving for over half a decade. 

The _real_ beauty of the outfit Wade had adorned for him, was the fact that the seam all along the backside of the skirt, from the hem to the waistline, was torn in a rip with threads fraying at the edges where Wade decided to give him easy access to his backside. Not only did he choose one of Peter’s _obvious_ weaknesses, but he chose to slip his legs-- his gorgeous muscular legs-- into thigh high stockings that came complete with a lace hem that Peter wanted to tug at with his _teeth._ Wade had also chosen to wear a pair of heels with bright red soles, making Peter salivate at the mental image of him standing in those shoes, arms stretched over his head and tied against the church pews as Peter knelt down in front of him and _teased him, marking up his inner thighs in bruises that would ensure Wade thought of him with every single step for days on end._

Peter had tried to keep his vows, he _genuinely_ had. He’d managed to hold onto his self-control for _six years._ He’d desired the taste of Wade Wilson long before the man began making advances and confessing the contents of his daydreams beside him. 

He managed to keep himself from touching him, from seeking him out beyond the professional options, from abandoning his morals for a tryst in the church confessional after hours despite the repeated visits and the knowledge that Wilson would writhe against him without complaints settling heavy in his ribcage. He’d already been approaching the breaking point. 

He had _already_ decided Wade Wilson would be his and his alone when the man _dared_ to put himself on display where other parishioners could see, where he could be spotted, where his chosen sins of the flesh could be witnessed by any eyes that _did not belong solely to Peter._ He had been in a trance at the end of the service, the image of Wade’s arm straining as he reached back to _defile himself_ playing over and over in his mind as he tried to sing along with the rest of his parish, as he tried to focus on imparting wisdom he could no longer stand by, as he attempted-- with strength he did not know he was capable of maintaining under such… intricate circumstances-- to pretend he was not a sacrilegious wavering man, but a devoted servant of the Lord. He had been enamored with the source of his anguish many years before they reached the point of public exhibition, but right then he’d been _enraptured._ And when the realization of just how public his demonstration for Peter had sunk in, he felt-- for the first time during the entirety of his vows-- jealousy. It was a monstrous thing that clawed its way into the recesses of his ribcage and mocked him for his weakness. 

He’d been angry enough that he’d planned to take Wilson on the altar, to brutally fuck him against the high table with a hand settled roughly on his throat to make him see the face of God the way he’d described in his very first _incriminating_ confession. 

But Wade… Wade had planned out the night with both of them in mind and Peter couldn’t help wanting to give in. God would not be so cruel as to put a vision of paradise in front of him and expect him to turn a blind eye. 

Peter felt undeniably pleased when he noticed the way Wade’s arms strained in the outfit, tensing and flexing with each step Peter took. Still, neither of them said a word as Peter rolled up his sleeves with precise, calculated movements. 

He could have turned away then, left in silence, pretended it never happened, kept his vows and gave Wade a final, silent answer. 

He did not. He was too focused on taking in every inch of skin on display for him, _only for him._

He should have come to his senses, he should have chosen the righteous path, he should have walked away, but how could God consistently test him for six years with the unwavering presence of everything he’d ever wanted and expect him to _not_ abandon that path? 

Peter began, with a racing pulse, to unbutton his robes. One button at a time until all of his chest was exposed and, well, they were always loose enough for him to forsake wearing anything beneath them. 

His robes were only halfway down his arms when Wade arched his back and pushed his ass out even further, the revealing outfit riding up to showcase the dimples at the small of his back. 

Peter broke and grabbed onto Wade’s outer thighs, grinding his aching dick against the cleft of Wade’s ass with only the thin fabric of his black, almost transparent spandex briefs to serve as a barrier between them as Wade groaned, “Holy shit, _yesssss,”_ so loudly that Peter could hear it echo from the painted ceilings of the altar. 

“You have tempted me, you have laid yourself before me like a sacrifice, and finally,” he murmured as he let his hands drift up the erotic outfit Wade donned for his benefit to grip the man’s hips hard enough to bruise, delighting in in the whine it brought out of his long time suitor, “I am defeated.” 

He leaned close over Wade’s back, close enough that he could feel Wade’s body heat on his exposed chest and the tiny little shivers of nervousness and _need,_ giving a tiny thrust of his hips and whispering, “Tell me, sinner, are you _satisfied?”_

Wade finally turned to look at him, meeting Peter’s eyes over his shoulder with both devotion and _fierce desire_ dancing in his gaze as he pushed his ass back against Peter’s cock, the plug still deep in his hole and forcing little shivers along his spine with the movement, his legs spreading just a little wider on the kneeling pad, “I will _never_ be satisfied, Father.” 

Peter let one hand drift down to Wade’s hole, fingers just teasing at his rim, not slipping inside, not grabbing the base of his bright red toy, just lightly circling his entrance and taking in the light red shade that graced Wade's skin. 

“Never?” he asked, voice falling into a decibel so low that perhaps even the saints watching over their sins might not hear them. 

Wade trembled under his ministrations and shook his head, his tone _wrecked_ as he promised, _“No, Father._ _No sin can mark the end of this.”_

Peter hummed lightly, not replying, not moving his hands quite yet and waiting out three breathy sounds from Wade before smiling. 

“Hey, Wade?” he asked. “Could you do something for me?” 

In a single second, Peter let one of his hands grip the base of Wade’s cock, listening to him cry out at the touch before pushing back against Peter once more mumbling, “Y--yes. I,” he paused to swallow. “Anything.” 

Peter grinned, almost feeling sorry for Wade because he knew this would be _agonizing_ for him… but he wouldn’t be the only one waiting. They all had to face challenges under the eyes of the lord and Peter wanted to see just how far he could go. 

He let his hand palm at Wade’s cock, thumbing the slit and pumping once as Wade groaned and closed his eyes to savor the sensation before abruptly gripping lightly at the base of his dick once more and admiring the way frustration showed in the curve of Wade’s shoulders in the flexing of his ass and thighs, in the way he relaxed his grip on his rosary only for his knuckles to turn pale once more a second later. 

“One Hail Mary.” 

He saw the way Wade’s head hung then, just below the metal railing, hand clutching the bar and the rosary at once as the beads clanged loudly against the edge of the stand and Wade inhaled slowly and let his breath out in a rush. 

Peter almost thought Wade would refuse to continue their tradition, but after a moment of hesitation, quiet words of worship hung around in the dim lighting of their secluded adventure. 

“Hail… hail Mary,” Wade began, swallowing loudly in the silence as Peter grabbed a handful of his ass, kneading the flesh and watching as each movement of Wade’s cheeks pushed the plug a little out, back in, feeling Wade's dick as it leaked precum over the fingers on Peter’s left hand and not caring at all. “Full of--” Wade sucked in a startled breath when one of Peter’s fingers slid into his hole alongside the toy. He faltered in his murmuring of the prayer, a stray drop of lube slipping out from where it belonged. 

Peter wondered if Wade bought the edible kind, making a mental note to ask later on, hoping he would get the answer he wanted. 

In the meantime, he smoothly put his hand back into place at the base of Wade’s dick to keep him from getting off just yet, angling his jaw to take the edge of the veil between his teeth and tug the thing off, completely determined to see this through with the image of _Wade_ clear in his head. 

“Continue,” he suggested quietly against Wade’s throat. 

Wade spread his legs a little further at the sound of Peter’s voice, and Peter had to admire his determination to stay upright in this… _position._

Wade’s voice came louder then, high and _ruined_ as he soldiered on through the prayer, eyes tightly shut as he gathered himself. 

“Grace, our Lord is with thee,” he blurted out in a rush, his words coming faster and faster as he tried to buck into Peter’s hand and whined when it gave him no satisfaction, no release. “Blessed, _fuck--_ _art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners_ ,” he forced out, not pausing to take a single breath until Peter slipped in a second finger and then he felt the shift in Wade’s abs, the violent shaking of his thighs and retreated, pulling out both fingers yet leaving the toy inside as he waited for Wade to catch his breath and gasp out, “Now... n--now and at-- at the hour of our death. _Amen.”_

Just as Wade was resting his cheek against his fist again, sighing, thinking he’d won, Peter leaned forward and said _one_ word. 

“Again.” 

“Faaa-” Wade groaned out, his words halting between heavy breaths, needy intakes of air. “Pete. Peter, _please,_ I just need- _I need you in me.”_

In one swift movement, Peter took his hand off of Wade’s dick and didn’t even give him time to protest as he took hold of the chest area of his outfit, of the white shal adorning his shoulders and ripped them both down the middle, the white shoulder piece falling to one side leaving Wade’s chest entirely on display, the outfit draped low on his upper arms and painted such an _arousing_ picture that Peter almost broke and removed the toy then and there. _Almost._

“Again,” he repeated lowly. 

This time, he could see the rapid rise and fall of Wade’s chest as he muddled through the words, the way his Adam’s apple moved when he swallowed down whines to make syllables for Peter’s judgement. 

“Hail Mary, full of grace,” he started, voice high and breathy as Peter’s fingers took his right nipple between his index finger and thumb, rolling the nub lightly and giving it a little pinch as it rose to Peter’s attention. “Our-- _God_ \-- Lord is with thee. Blessed art-- art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb-- _Jesus_ _fuck.”_ Peter smiled from where he’d bitten at the juncture of Wade’s neck and shoulder, pressing a soft kiss to the area to make up for the slight pain he’d caused. Wade kept going, though, even when Peter pressed light kisses along the bottom of his jaw to distract him. 

“Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us-- for us _sinners,_ now and at the hour of our death. Amen.”

He smiled, the ache of delayed relief clear on his features and then the hope drained out of his face as Peter said:

_“One last time for me, Sweetheart.”_ God, Wade looked like he might _cry,_ and Peter didn’t want him to think he didn’t want him. He just wanted to make their first time last as long as possible. He wanted to taste and have and _savour_ Wade like his last goddamned _meal._ So, in an attempt at some sort of compromise, Peter let himself sound sweet, heaping on the praise as he murmured, “You’re doing so _well._ So perfectly devoted. So _beautiful and smart--_ ” 

Wade started speaking quickly, voice panicked as his hips jolted forward seemingly out of his control. _"_ _Hail Mary, full of grace, our Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus."_ He spoke in a single breath, not stopping between words or sentences. Peter nuzzled the nape of his neck, pressing his lips to the very top of his spine, and delighting in the full body shiver it caused; the stuttering of Wade's prayer as he tried his best to focus. "Holy-- _holy_ Mary, M--mother of God, pray for-- pray for us sin… sinners, now and at the _hour of our-- our death. Amen."_

Peter didn't want to stop teasing him, but Wade had earned his affection and he wanted to reward him. He wanted to show him just how well they worked together, they always had. 

"I'm so _proud_ of you, Wade," he breathed, words spilling out of him against Wade's shoulder. "So, _so_ proud of you for holding out for me." 

He dragged his teeth lightly against the juncture of Wade’s shoulder, lips pausing just over the hollow of his throat and sucking on the area, biting and licking over it and leaving a beautiful red mark as Wade’s chest rose and fell erratically. He felt Wade’s heartbeat against his chest even through his back, the pulse as wild and strong as the man who hosted it. Wade gasped against his fist as Peter finally slid his palm over the curve of his ass again, taking a handful and giving it a light smack that sounded louder in the church than it actually was, causing Wade to look back at him with dilated pupils and a completely _helpless_ expression. 

It made Peter feel like he had all the power in the world he’d never thought to ask for; it was a heady rush of a sensation. 

Peter slipped his fingers into Wade’s hole, grinning at the way it tightened and the way Wade jolted backward, forehead resting on the rail by his arms as he bit into his own hand, grip on his gifted rosary so tight that his knuckles went pale with the strain. 

Peter didn’t remove the plug at first, pushing it forward slowly, deeper and listening to the needy little pants and whispers of his title, the desperate repetitions of, _“Father, please… please, Fa--father Parker,”_ as Wade brought his thighs close together to reflect his sensitivity. 

Peter didn’t want Wade to keep his legs shut. He wanted what he was given from the start. He wanted to see him completely bare and on display and in one swift movement, Peter shifted forward, nipping at the shell of Wade’s ear and using his left hand to reach over Wade’s hip and grip around Wade’s inner thigh, brushing against his cock and listening to Wade’s gasp of surprise to _roughly_ shove his legs further apart. 

“Don’t hide yourself from me, Wade,” Peter ordered, fingers still prodding teasingly at his rim, thumbing at the base of his plug, but making no move to pull it out. “Not after you put on a show where anyone could see you, not after you gripped the benches in the House of God and fucked yourself to his words--” 

“No!” Wade protested, one forearm still shakily supporting himself on the metal railing as the other fisted the fabric of his torn skirt, voice panicked as he turned his head to the side where it lay on the back of his palm, his pants coming out harsh and _rushed_ as he spoke through them. 

“I didn’t-- _It was…_ your words. _Your voice._ God didn’t factor into it, fuck, _please, please, fuck me._ ” He bit his lip and his free arm shifted lower, his hand dipping under the layers of the frayed outfit where Peter could envision him taking hold of himself as he thrust his hips back against Peter again, grinding against his lap as he whispered his request. _“Please fuck me, Father.”_

Peter froze-- hesitated. For a long time he’d assumed Wade wanted him because of his profession, that it was a kink, a heady desire that stemmed from religious repression and nothing more. He’d long since let go of the notion, but to hear the man that plagued his thoughts for so many hours of the day confess that Peter’s words held more weight in his heart, in his _soul,_ than God’s… Peter would never let Wade Wilson go. 

Peter set his hand over Wade’s as Wade slowly palmed at his cock, savoring the warmth beneath his fingertips and the way Wade’s nipples looked, soft pink little nubs under the candlelight. Wade made a choked off whine as Peter’s fingers dipped beneath his erection, cupping his balls and thumbing at the spot just beneath his dick, making him squirm and spread his legs a little further, the base of his plug just slipping out of the rim of his hole with the movement and causing him to whine into his fist. 

“Shhhhh, Wade, it’s okay. I’m gonna fuck you, okay? I just need you to wait with me, Love. Can you do that?” Peter let his hand retreat from its position at the base of Wade’s cock to drag lightly over his abdomen, memorizing the feeling of soft skin and toned muscles, the position of every slightly raised scar as Wade squirmed under his touch and panted, nodding frantically. Peter could feel Wade’s thighs already trembling where they met his and he took mercy on his lover, halting in his explorations and wrapping an arm around Wade’s waist to steady him in his kneeling position. 

Teeth tugging at the skin just beneath Wade’s earlobe before he tasted the area to soothe any pain he might have caused, Peter murmured, “Talk to me, Sweetheart. I need a verbal response here. Can you do that for me?” 

_“Yes,”_ Wade breathed. “Yes, anything, I would do _anything.”_

Peter smiled at the admission, warm and _obsessed_ as he took in the sight of Wade, a desperate, _beautiful_ mess. He took hold of the plug then, watching Wade’s face as he grabbed the base. He tugged it out only a couple inches, and Wade’s face contorted in a mix of embarrassment and pleasure, his eyes not quite closed but open just enough for Peter to see only a rim of blue around his pupils, lips parting with nearly silent exhales that Peter might not have heard if they weren’t surrounded by marble pillars and walls with indents for sculptures watching over their sins. 

Peter shifted himself a little to the left, his clothed dick aching against Wade’s exposed cheek as Peter ground himself forward and groaned quietly, watching the way Wade’s grip got even tighter, the way the rosary dangled with every shaky little breath Wade took, the way it swung out almost violently as Peter pushed the plug back in and Wade spasmed at the intrusion. The hand Wade had previously been using to touch himself now swinging back and latching itself around Peter’s wrist, smearing precum over his skin.

Wade managed to open his eyes just a centimeter wider, shoulders tense, the forearm he used for balance shaking as he whispered, _“Please.”_

Peter still didn’t take the plug out yet, hands remaining in the same position as he shifted himself forward, rutting against Wade’s ass before he captured his lips in a gentle, breathy kiss, tasting him, taking his bottom lip between his teeth briefly before letting go and angling his head to breathe him in, to run his tongue along the roof of his mouth and feel something wild and untamed beating in his chest when he felt the man relax against him. Wade released his hold on Peter’s wrist and brought a hand to softly settle over Peter’s throat, leaving its mark there in white as Wade’s eyes fell shut entirely and he twisted his upper body to the left to give Peter better access to all of him, to kiss him, to pant into his neck and trail wet kisses all up the side of his neck to lick clean the evidence of his impurity. 

Peter suddenly felt that he was far more exposed than Wade was and that was _unacceptable._ In a moment of sheer need and self-imposed frustration, Peter broke away from Wade’s ministrations and took hold of the split seams of the skirt, ripping it further to expose Wade’s back as he trembled and moaned a quiet, “God _yes, yes, Father--”_

Peter finally let himself move back just enough to take hold of the base of Wade's plug, tugging at it _oh-so-slowly_ and watching, _mesmerized_ as Wade twitched and his back trembled with tiny little shivers that he failed to keep under control. Wade remained quiet while Peter watched his hole stretch as the thickest part of the toy started to reach Wade's rim and Peter _was_ impressed, but he wanted to _hear him._

Peter took in another moment to rotate the plug's base in his hand and caused Wade to whine at the sensation. 

Without warning, he rammed it back in faster than he pulled it out and was instantly rewarded with an unholy shout of, _"Holy fuuuuck! Haa, God. Fuck, fuck, fucking hell--"_

In the blink of an eye, Peter grabbed Wade's jaw, absently noting the fact that Wade had been reduced to _drooling_ under his touch, forcing him to look up as the statue of Christ-- the one where he bore the cross over his shoulder, dragging it toward his execution grounds for the salvation of humankind. Once Wade's eyes were focused on that image, Peter whispered into his ear. 

"Such _language_ under the gaze of God is a sin, Sweetheart. And I know you don't want me to ask you for another prayer--" 

"No!" Wade yelled out, his voice fragile, eyes already wide and horrified at the idea of having to focus through another Hail Mary. 

Peter bit his earlobe again, just a small nibble, then left a kitten lick against the shell of his ear as he twisted the toy and watched Wade jerk in his hold, eyes focused on the statue as saliva trailed from his chin down to his throat. 

Peter let his voice drop even further then, demanding, “One more Hail Mary, Sweetheart. Just for me.” 

Wade whimpered, head dropping forward as he struggled to stay on his knees. 

Peter bent low to press a tentative kiss to Wade's side, just below his ribs, right along the edge of one of his largest scars. The skin there was so soft and so sensitive that Wade jolted away front the contact on instinct before _whining_ as Peter moved with him. 

"Come on, Baby, just _one._ Just this _one._ You did so well for me, you're so strong and patient and I love listening to your voice. Wade, _Wade, Sweetheart, let me listen to your voice-"_

Wade thighs shook violently and he brought them back together but still he left enough space for Peter's grip on the plug to remain undisturbed. Peter brushed his lips along the sensitive scar on the outer side of Wade's shoulder, keeping eye contact with Wade as he sucked on the area and left a pretty purple hue to mark his efforts. 

He squeezed lightly around Wade's throat, not enough to hurt him or leave a mark, but just enough to add some pressure, a silent _let me hear you._

"Hail Mary, full of-- _full of grace,_ our Lord is with thee-- Blessed art thou-- _blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus-- fuck--_ H--holy Mary, Mother of… _mother of God. Pray-- pray…"_

Wade broke the prayer to pant against his own wrist as Peter rotated the base of the plug one more time, pushing it in a tiny bit deeper to watch the slow burning _delicate_ agony make it's way over Wade's features. Peter kept the hold around Wade's throat, a mix of precum and drool lingering on his hand as Wade's eyes fluttered shut and he finished the prayer in a single, exhausted exhale of, _"For us sinners, now and in the hour of death, Amen."_

"You're so beautiful, Wade, _so beautiful,_ so fucking sexy," Peter confessed, his words trailing like lightning against Wade's skin as he murmured them between his exploration of Wade's scars. "So devout, _perfect,"_ he breathed, loving that every word he said caused Wade's legs to spread a little further into his previous position, as if he was trying his absolute _best_ to entice Peter. It was working. "Perfect for me," he went on, "All mine, you're _mine_ , Wade, _tell me you’re mine, I need to hear it-”_

Even as he ground his aching dick slowly against the cleft of Wade's ass again, he knew he was driving Wade crazy. 

The mumbling and begging from Wade's lips was almost incoherent. He nodded as best as he could with Peter gripping him tight, _begging, "Yes, yours. Only yours, Peter. Father, please take me. Take me, take me, take me-- take what's yours."_

Peter slowly slid the plug out of Wade’s ass, watching once more as his hole expanded and quivered to accommodate the width of the toy and grinned at the sigh of _relief_ it brought out of Wade. 

As Wade caught his breath, Peter spread his cheeks apart, watching lube drip out along Wade’s inner thighs to make a shiny, slick mess of the man who had taken command of his dreams for so long. "You, uh, you're really," Peter felt a swallow under his grip. "You're really dragging this out--" 

Peter chuckled faintly. "You have… _no idea."_

He thumbed at the curve of Wade’s ass with his free hand, watching the way Wade arched back against the feeling, breathing out raggedly when Peter shoved down his own underwear and lined himself up. Sinking into him with an almost agonized groan and dragging the hand he had wrapped around Wade’s waist up under the flimsy outfit to his throat, Peter forced Wade to look at the angels painted on the ceilings, the false skies of blue as he slid the rest of the way in, watching Wade’s eyes roll back in his head as his chest seized under Peter’s forearm, his breathing stopping momentarily as if he had forgotten the action was _necessary._

Peter stayed very still for what felt like forever as he tried to get control of himself, tried not to end this too soon, and grew accustomed to the _heat_ of Wade around him as the man himself moaned out in bliss, throat shifting around a swallow under Peter's fingertips. 

It seemed like an eternity before Peter allowed himself to move and even then, it was only with a slow, _teasing_ drag of his cock pulling out of Wade as he whined and squirmed and shifted himself back to try and get Peter to go _faster._

"Pete, Petey, _Father, don't--_ don't make me wait, God, _fuck_ don't make me wait, I can't-- I can't, I just _can't-"_

Peter _gently_ thrust back in, his pace so deliberately controlled that Wade tilted his head to the side to take Peter's fingers into his mouth and mindlessly suck on them for something to focus on. 

He pushed in, feeling Wade tighten around him like he _desperately_ wanted to keep him inside, like Peter belonged there. 

It was all he could do to pant against Wade's shoulder blades to try to reign himself back in as Wade pushed against him, making it _that much harder_ to stick to his plan. 

_"Peter,"_ Wade gasped. "I am _begging you,_ fuck. Me. _Fuck me, fuck me, come on--"_

Peter could see Wade's eyes watering with frustrating and he almost felt bad for making him wait, but Peter had been waiting for _six years too._ He wasn't going to break just because Wade was a thing of beauty, so messy and _gorgeous and all his--_

But Peter had to focus. 

One last time, he pulled back until only the tip of his cock remained at Wade's entrance. And one last time he waited until Wade was whining out in dissatisfaction before finally-- when Peter felt Wade's hands slip from the railing, dropping the rosary on the ground and slipping behind him to grab at Peter's hips-- he set up the angle he needed and slammed in so forcefully that Wade' entire body moved with the impact, jolting him upward with a _broken moan of approval_ as Peter withdrew and slammed back in two more times. The slapping of skin on skin echoed throughout the Grand Church Hall as he kept his hold on Wade's throat, noting the vibrations that emanated from him when he made an almost _silent_ scream, the wind knocked out of him as Peter felt him writhe and spasm and try to move away. 

Peter wouldn't allow it, his free arm gripping Wade's hip tightly, keeping their bodies meshed together so that Wade couldn't escape the onslaught of Peter's cock at his prostate, stuck there throughout his orgasm, even as Wade's eyes rolled back one last time, his hands gripping Peter's forearms hard enough to leave marks that Peter knew he would feel proud of in the morning. Right then, the pain was _just enough_ to distract him from the way Wade's hole tightened around him in what felt like a vice grip, as if Peter's satisfaction was something he needed as much as his own. 

Wade collapsed back against him, and Peter felt Wade’s hole tighten around him further _still_ . He had to bite down on Wade’s shoulder to give himself an outlet for his needs and keep himself from coming because he didn’t want their first time to be over yet, not so quickly, not after waiting _years for it._

Once Wade's twitching stopped and he just breathed ragged little inhales against Peter's neck, Peter idly started tracing patterns on Wade’s abs, covering his hand in Wade’s cum and whispering Wade’s favorite sermon into his ear. 

“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven. Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted. Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the Earth. Blessed are those who _hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they shall be satisfied. Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God. Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called the sons of God. Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness' sake, for theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven."_

He started murmuring the prayer with the innocent intention of wanting to hear Wade say the words with him but when he saw Wade mouthing along with his eyes half-lidded, it became a mission to get him to pay attention to Peter. 

He whispered the rest of it softly into Wade's ear, insistently. 

_"Blessed are you when they revile you. Blessed are you when they persecute you. Blessed are you when they utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account. Rejoice and be glad, Wade," he insisted only a decibel above silence, "For your reward is great in heaven."_

Wade's voice was only a note above a hushed whine as he murmured the final line for Peter. 

_"For so they persecuted the prophets before you."_

When Wade finally met Peter's eyes, Peter took the opportunity to bring his dripping hand up to his own lips and lick it clean of Wade’s essence, sucking at his own fingers, one, then two, then three at a time-- never breaking eye contact. He wanted to be Wade's reward. 

Wade’s dick twitched, and he twisted to whine into Peter’s neck when the realization that Peter was still _achingly hard_ had sunk in, mumbling, “I-- I can’t… _Pete._ Too much. I can’t--” 

Peter kept his hold on Wade’s jaw and turned his face up just to plant a filthy, wet kiss on Wade’s lips, slotting their tongues against each other and sucking on Wade’s tongue for good measure as he made Wade _taste himself._

Wade didn't fight it, he didn't bite him for the action, and he didn't pull away or even whine. He slid his tongue along Peter's bottom lip and then took Peter's tongue between his lips, sucking on it with his eyes closed and a tiny hum of pleasure rising in his chest. 

Peter then ran his tongue along the roof of Wade's mouth for the second time that night, feeling _vindicated_ when Wade made the same _desecrated_ sound as the first time and pulled away panting. 

"God, _look at you."_ Peter knew he sounded so incredibly _enthralled_ but he couldn't bring himself to care as he let his hand trace over a couple matching scars just beneath Wade's ear, thumbing over them and watching Wade shiver. "You just came and you're already desperate for me. What did I do to warrant God placing you in my path?" 

"I-- I'm not-- not _desperate--_ " 

Peter huffed at Wade's denial of his needy behavior, the hand he had on Wade's hip caressing one jagged scar that rested along his hip bone, cutting out just above Wade's cock that was already rising back to attention as Wade bit his lip and tried to subtly angle his dick away from Peter's hand. "You're not desperate yet, but _you will be."_

Peter thrust in twice, feeling Wade tighten around him like he couldn’t decide if he needed him to stop or needed him to keep ruining him under God’s watchful gaze. 

Peter didn’t wait for him to make that choice, hooking his palms and fingers under Wade’s knees, grinding into him as he lifted Wade’s nylon covered, _smooth_ legs, bending his knees as Wade whined pitifully at being spread out like a sex toy, cock on display and muscles straining to accommodate the new position as Peter lifted him up, standing so that Wade’s feet hung in the air. One heel fell off his foot and revealed curled toes in his _sinfully_ transparent thigh highs. 

Wade writhed as Peter kept a deliberate and dragging contact against his prostate, making it difficult for Peter to stand, his hips twitching as he took careful steps up the left aisle, spreading Wade just an inch wider with every step until his head was thrown back against Peter’s shoulder again, tiny little murmurs of delirium pouring from his lips. 

Peter would have been on the edge then, veering on the precipice of Wade’s quiet rapture, if Wade wasn’t scratching little marks along Peter’s arms, leaving bright bright red trails of evidence that he was losing his mind on Peter’s cock. 

The desperate little exhale of, _“Father,”_ against his neck did Peter in at the altar steps. 

Suddenly, he was kneeling and letting Wade fall forward onto his forearms, breathing like he’d run a marathon just from experiencing Peter inside of him. Peter only gave him _one_ second to adjust. 

Then he hooked his hands under Wade’s upper thighs, yanking him roughly against his lap, listening to the way their skin slapped against each other, the wet squelch of Wade’s hole around him, the feeling of Wade’s ass slamming back against his hips, as Peter kept himself in a rigid kneeling position, spearing Wade onto his dick as Wade scrambled to balance himself on his forearms, his hips two feet off the ground as Peter kneeled above the highest step and Wade’s back arched obscenely, his upper body weighed down by the decline, harsh pants escaping him as his arms failed him multiple times and he finally collapsed on one forearm, _screaming against his own skin as Peter brutally hit his mark over and over again._

There was a small puddle of cum dripping beneath Wade, as his dick twitched and swung back and forth under Peter’s relentless thrusts, slapping against Peter’s thigh every so often and making him even more determined to keep his hold under Wade’s thigh, to make him feel like _nothing else in the world mattered._ Wade wasn't even making words anymore, drool trailing from his lips onto his arms as the left side of his face lay over his arm at what would have felt like an awkward angle had he not been smiling _deliriously_ at the thought that in this moment, he existed only for Peter, only to please Peter, only to be Peter's flesh light.

The words came out in barely distinguishable mumbles of, “ _M’yours, only for you-- haaa-- Fa--Parker-- Peter’s fleshli-- fuck, fuck, fuck!”_

Peter felt like he shattered then, like something inside him short circuited and lightning raced in his veins at the thought of Wade _wanting_ to be used for nothing but his own pleasure, as his _flesh light._

He couldn’t stop anymore. He’d been rough before, but he felt his grip on Wade’s thighs slipping at the worst possible moment and in a split second of absolute desperation, Peter fisted his hands into the fabric of Wade’s thigh highs, ripping the flimsy stockings but feeling a huge sense of relief that the hems themselves remained intact. They acted as _bounds_ around Wade’s thighs that Peter was all too happy to use to his benefit. 

Where he’d been fucking Wade with harsh, precise thrusts before, he now fucked him like they were _savages,_ like he wanted Wade to see the bruises the impact of his hips left behind on his ass the next morning-- he didn’t want Wade sitting down without wincing and thinking about the night he became a blissed out _mess_ on Peter’s altar steps. Wade looked like he was having a fucking _siezure_ as he spasmed and shook violently, reaching back to claw at the tops of Peter’s hands even as his mouth fell open. He managed to use his grip on Peter to balance himself, thrusting backwards like Peter’s cock was his new addiction. 

Peter couldn’t control himself when Wade fucked back against him, his arms shaking as he pushed himself off the lowest of the four steps and slammed back against Peter with the same speed and _insanity_ as Peter felt himself throwing into their act of debauchery. 

He came, he came and for a second he lost sight of their surroundings, of Wade, world blacking out as he thrust forward one last time and fell forward. 

He caught himself at the last moment before impact, his right arm practically vibrating from the impact against the second step as Peter forced himself to endure for the sake of _not crushing Wade._ It took a second for his eyes to clear, for his breathing to settle into rough pants instead of the frenzied intakes of air that accompanied divine satisfaction. 

With one hand still caught in the hem of Wade’s destroyed stocking, Peter gently set his lover down, aftershocks still causing him to thrust in tiny little spasms as he emptied himself inside of Wade’s abused hole. 

He stayed there longer than he should have, fingers gently caressing Wade’s inner thighs, pushing at Wade’s left leg as he breathed in intermittent gasps of air with his cheek against the ground, arms limp beside him, and hole _still_ tightening around Peter’s dick even when it was obvious Wade couldn’t take another round. 

Peter hesitated to get himself out of Wade. It was warm and _right,_ but he was also too sensitive right then to handle Wade's inner walls spasming around his dick. Regretfully, he shifted his hips back, smiling in amusement when he heard Wade give a pleased little hum from where his head lay on his left forearm. 

Wade was so drained that he wasn't even shaking anymore, just breathing raggedly with his cheek against the floor, hands fisted in what remained on his skimpy nun outfit, sweat making his skin glisten under the candlelight of the chandeliers. The tips of his ears were still red from the sensations wracking his body, and Peter just wanted to remember this moment, where he took Wade for himself and reduced him to the trembling mess of their mingled sexual desires. 

Peter couldn't help thinking he looked edible. 

And then he remembered a passing thought from earlier in the night. 

Carefully, Peter pulled out the rest of the way, resting on his forearms and knees, boxing Wade in-- not that Wade was energetic enough to notice. "Hey, Wade?" 

Wade made only a quiet little hum on acknowledgement as he waited for Peter to elaborate. "Hm?" 

"What kind of lube did you use?" 

Weighed down by a bone-deep exhaustion, Wade didn't even bother to look at Peter, to suspect anything was amiss as he cheerfully responded, "Strawberry." 

Peter grinned as he realized what flavored lube meant for him. _Definitely edible._

Peter slowly made his way down Wade's back, licking lightly here and there, leaving kisses along the corners of his scars and tonguing lightly as the base of his spine, all things that Wade seemed to enjoy. 

Until Peter grabbed at Wade's knees, accidentally snagging one of the stockings with his fingernail and tearing at it to reveal more _beautifully toned skin_ and spread his legs apart, dropping down on the ground in a single fluid motion and dragging his tongue from the tip of the underside of Wade's cock all the way up to his hole in one movement. 

Wade's hips jerked forward against the cold stone floor and he groaned, one hand coming up to his mouth to keep himself from shouting. 

"Petey, I don't-- _God--_ what are you _doing to me?"_ He sounded like he was on the verge of passing out and yet, he wasn't _protesting_ Peter's plan of action. 

Peter just smacked Wade's right cheek in a sharp reprimand, no words needed as Wade _automatically_ lifted his hips and pushed himself back against Peter's face, already starting to shake violently as his muscles struggled to cope with the prolonged assault of Peter's cravings. 

Peter was so _proud_ that he took a moment to tongue at Wade's rim, just circling it at the same time he soothed over the bright red handprint on Wade's cheek with his hand, thumbing over his mark and loving the fact that Wade's right leg was trembling a little harder because of it. 

Peter slipped his tongue inside, the sweet taste of strawberry and the utter lack of resistance making him groan low in his throat, taking both of Wade's cheeks into his hands to pull them apart and bury his face further between them-- his nose at the base of Wade's spine as he panted and took full advantage of his meal. 

Wade tasted sweet, but Peter knew the lube would do that. The real focus of his attention was held by the bitter, salty mess of white that leaked out of his hole and down his inner thighs. 

He pulled back with a shaky breath of frustration, feeling disappointed that he had to pause his… _inspection_ … of Wade's ass to dip down even lower, tasting his own cum mixed with the trails of sweet lubricant all along Wade's thighs, even down to his knees, soaked into the bands of his thigh highs. Peter sucked on them and was treated to a full-body shiver from Wade as he gave little whispers of disbelief through ragged intakes of air. "Holy-- shit. Holy shit... _holy fuck--"_

Peter resisted the urge to brush his cheek affectionately against Wade's ass, but _barely._ He wanted to show Wade that his adoration was not one-sided, but he would do so in other ways. He couldn't make a mess of himself. Not when the goal was to make a writhing mess of _Wade._

He dragged his teeth against the sensitive skin, loving the tiny jolts and the squirming attempts Wade made to move his legs away from Peter's mouth because he couldn't handle the onslaught of Peter's need for him. 

Peter closed his eyes and enjoyed the taste on his tongue, the feeling of tiny little spasms rocking through Wade's thighs under his lips as Peter sucked bruises into his skin and murmured praise into the marks he left behind. 

He lapped at Wade's thighs like he was eating his _last meal,_ swallowing down the remnants of their sins as Wade gasped near indistinguishable pronunciations of the word, _"Yes."_

When Peter licked one stripe up the back of Wade left thigh, slowly veering to the right over hickies he'd already made and brushing against the side of Wade's balls, he groaned in what sounded almost like _pain._ There was only so much he could take, but Peter wanted to give him _everything._

He kept his hands on Wade's ass, kneading and petting his cheeks, letting go of his left cheek for only a second to give it a harsh _smack--_ listening to Wade's startled inhale-- before letting his hand smooth over the flesh and caress a light scar at the crease of Wade's left cheek. 

"Father, I--" 

Peter didn't get to hear the rest of what Wade might have said. He spread his cheeks and dove straight in with his tongue, breaching his hole and _sucking,_ that wet mix of sweet, sweet fruit and his own release settling in the back of his mouth as he swallowed it down, twisting his tongue against every little space he could reach and savoring the moment that he'd waited so long to have. 

"Fuck! _Ah--_ I-- I _can't, Father. Father, please--"_

Peter's actions spoke louder than words could have as he responded by panting against Wade's hole and running his tongue flatly up and down Wade's crack, before delving back in. He didn't stop sucking or making his tongue feel perfectly at home inside of Wade. He _didn't want to._

He didn't stop because Wade was twitching weakly and his muscles spasmed under every tiny little attention Peter granted them and he _needed_ to keep Wade on the edge, to give him the night of his life in case this really was just a kink. He needed Wade to always, always, _always_ come back to him-- even if it was only to whimper against his own fist as he helplessly ground back against Peter's mouth. 

Peter felt immeasurably pleased when he licked Wade clean of all traces of the strawberry lube, of _himself,_ and delighted in slipping one hand over Wade's hip, curving under him and brushing lightly at his lower abdomen, feeling the way Wade's belly spasmed under his hand as he reached lower and _lower and-_

Wade was hard. 

Peter breathed in a sharp inhale and moaned into his hole, the vibrations making Wade reach a shaking arm behind himself to tangle into Peter's hair and grind his face against his ass as his shoulders pulled back and he cried out in _abject_ _euphoria._

Peter couldn't let Wade dominate this moment-- this pure, sacrilegious, delirious moment where Peter needed to feel like he _owned him,_ like Wade Wilson would never belong to anyone else, like those hands would never knot into anyone else's hair, that his body would never spasm under the onslaught of another's tongue, that Wade would never cry out for any other person. 

In a moment of _utter need to possess him,_ Peter gripped Wade's hips and slammed his ass back against his face, sticking his tongue in _roughly_ and deeper than before, exploring Wade's hole and twisting his tongue to the left, curling it against Wade's sensitive skin _just to watch_ _Wade's thighs flex and his toes curl and his nails scratching harshly against Peter's scalp because it was the hottest thing Peter had ever experienced in his life._

There was precum on the floor again, half of the small drops of Wade's pleasure gracing the torn remains of his outfit. 

Peter wanted to get Wade to finish again, amazed he was still conscious when Peter's cock was barely beginning to recover from their previous activity. He started tongue fucking Wade, slipping two fingers into his still twitching hole and scissoring his entrance in and out, licking his way deeper as Wade writhed and scrambled to move away from his face, hips swaying violently as he tried to get back onto his knees to crawl away from the source of divine _torture_ at his backside. He kept drooling, choking on his own saliva with high pitched whines that sounded like that of a _wounded_ animal. Peter wanted to hear him make those sounds over and over again. 

Every time he moved away, Peter dragged him right back until Wade frustrated him for the final time and Peter simply hooked Wade's upper thighs over his shoulders so that he could _enjoy his god damned meal with no further interruptions_. He loved the new position, himself back on his knees in an upright straight position while Wade was forced up onto his forearms with his ass so high in the air that his back arched obscenely and his breaths came heavy. 

Wade's cock dragged against his neck, slapping at his collar bones with every bob of his head as Wade shivered and hung in his grip, his hand letting Peter's hair free as he scrambled to hold himself up. 

He was gasping out curses when Peter sucked on his rim, all the while fucking himself back with indiscreet arches of his back, scratching at the ground, whining and begging, alternating between desperate pleas for more and broken whines about it being _too much, too much, too much._ Peter had a feeling Wade couldn't even tell what he wanted anymore, but his body spoke the words he couldn't say because he spasmed suddenly in Peter's arms, legs clamping tightly around Peter's head as he came all over his own abs, gravity making a mess of him as he turned his head over his shoulder to meet Peter's eyes for the briefest of seconds before his pupils made themselves at home in the back of his head and his mouth parted with a moan bordering on _pornographic._ Peter almost felt sorry for pushing him so far, but he couldn't help the gentle lapping of his tongue against Wade's entrance as he slowly let himself lower them both to the ground, setting Wade gently on his stomach on the altar floor as opposed to the steps they'd started on. 

He only gave Wade a few minutes without his touch, only a few minutes to exist in the subtle aftershocks of what felt like intoxication for both of them. 

Peter broke his resistance far faster than he should have as he let his hands glide over Wade’s hips, admiring his blissed out form under the blue and red fractured lighting of the high stained glass windows. He couldn’t believe he’d gotten so lucky, couldn’t understand what he’d done to deserve this blessing, gripping Wade’s hips lightly and turning him over, yearning to look at him, to take all of him in and claim every inch of his skin. 

The nun outfit was nothing more than a few long scraps over fabric held together at Wade’s sides as Wade lay on his back, eyelids drifting shut despite his best efforts to keep them open and meet Peter’s eyes. The outfit had been enticing before but now it was nothing more than a barrier to Wade’s flesh, his side and upper arms. Peter needed him bare to his glances. 

He skimmed his fingertips under it, chuckling quietly at the way Wade’s abs shifted under his touch, the way Wade squirmed and shifted beneath his stare. Silently, he lifted the cut up pieces along Wade’s lower back and his torso, murmuring, “Lift up for me, Love,” as he tried to get the outfit off of Wade entirely. 

Wade complied, muttering, “I’m tired,” even as he shook, positioning himself on his elbows and struggling to remain upright as Peter took hold of his hands and lifted them above Wade’s head, raising the skimpy outfit in the same gentle movement and wrapping his arms around Wade’s upper back as he swayed in place, gently laying him back down against the altar floor. 

Wade had hickies all over his neck and shoulders, and Peter couldn’t help the smug burning in his chest as he looked down at his masterpiece. 

He couldn’t help the reverent tone in his voice as he whispered, "Look at the mess I made of you." 

Wade simply opened half-lidded eyes to look at him with utter adoration as he whispered back, “I know.” 

Peter grinned, leaning forward against Wade, slotting their bodies together once more as he teased, "Not presentable for the house of God _at all."_

Wade snorted, smiling despite his tired demeanor, and relaxed under Peter’s gentle touch. He practically gigged as Peter slid his hands along Wade’s sides, over his hip bones, and lowered himself little by little. 

He pressed quiet little kisses along Wade’s neck, no real _intent_ bleeding through as Wade sighed and lifted his jaw so Peter could do as he pleased. Poor Wade. That was _clearly_ a mistake. 

Peter dragged his teeth lightly over Wade’s pec, just pausing to leave little kisses over his mark, tonguing at them and nibbling and sucking at Wade’s skin, leaving soft pink hues mixed with red that he knew would fade into those same shades of blue, red, and purple shadows that the windows cast over their sins. 

Wade’s breathing picked up again, tiny little whines starting low in his throat as he twitched and his body moved with little spasms in spite of his debility. 

He didn’t seem to realize what Peter was aiming for, just enjoying the attention and breathing out exhales of contentment. 

Peter flicked his tongue against Wade’s left nipple, and Wade’s hands came up to card through Peter’s hair, sleepy gaze aimed down at him with such pure _affection_ that Peter almost felt guilty as he tugged lightly at the nub with his teeth, soothing it over with his tongue again as Wade let out a broken little gasp. He felt like he was drowning in his obsession for Wade, like crossing the boundary had shattered him and it was all he could do to hold on and ruin him for as long as he could. _And ruin him, he would._

He thumbed at Wade’s right nipple, sorry for neglecting it as he pinched it lightly and heard the burnt out groan it brought out of Wade. 

Peter then took the chance to mouth at Wade’s abdomen, leaving a trail of kisses that dipped lower and lower and _lower_ until Peter pressed a wet, open-mouthed kiss over the base of Wade’s cock, feeling it twitch against his tongue as if on _command._ Wade jolted forward and his grip in Peter’s hair grew painfully tight. 

“‘M’gonna have to clean you up, Sweetheart. Put you on a pedestal.” 

Wade’s grip in his hair grew even _tighter_ and Peter groaned against Wade’s cock, the pain only making it that much more satisfying-- knowing that Wade wanted him but was so spent that his touch could cause such _sweet torment._

Peter made sure to keep his eyes on Wade’s face as he licked a stripe up the underside of his cock and pressed his lips to the slit. 

“Fa-- _Parker, I--_ I can’t. It’s--” 

Wade couldn’t force out more words, his voice petering out as he swallowed and Peter paused in his pursuit.

He stopped to nuzzle the base of Wade’s cock with his cheek, looking up at him and murmuring, “Say no to me, Baby. You can say no, and I’ll stop. I promise.” 

He murmured the last couple of syllables with his lips lightly pressing against the vein on the underside of Wade’s dick. 

He didn’t think Wade would _cry,_ but he could see tears slipping down the side of his face against his cheekbones as he lifted his head just enough to look at Peter and _whimper,_ begging, “No! _No._ No, _please,_ please, Father, don’t stop. Please, _Peter--”_

Peter let his tongue out, licking up the side of Wade's cock and opening wide enough to wrap his lips around the head, sinking down and moving his tongue along Wade's length. He hollowed out his cheeks and watched as Wade threw his head back, moaning shamelessly as his chest puffed out and the veins in his forearms raised along his skin as he held onto Peter's hair for dear _life._

Peter pulled back until his lips were at the tip of Wade's dick again, his hands pumping away as Wade panted and groaned and mumbled the words, _"Too much, fuck,"_ over and over. 

Peter pulled away with a pop and saw Wade's eyes open to look down at him, wet with tears. 

"Tell me you want me to stop, Wade." 

Wade shook his head and Peter opened his mouth to sink down faster than before, almost choking around Wade, but taking all the way down to the base and breathing him in before pulling off for air as Wade made _strangled_ noises. 

Before Wade could gain any semblance of control, Peter sunk back down with renewed determination, a slightly bitter taste settling on his tongue that he didn't mind-- not in the slightest, not when it was Wade's. He moved slower this time, savoring every inch that passed his lips and growing used to the feeling of something that wide reaching the back of his throat. He focused on breathing through his nose, bobbing his head at a leisurely pace as Wade tried and utterly failed to lift his fatigued body off the ground, instead making tiny, stilted thrusts into Peter's mouth. 

The way Wade's voice broke when Peter hummed with his dick in his mouth gave Peter _life_ and he purposely slowed down, watching Wade attentively for a reaction, for a protest. 

A trail of saliva joined the track marks left by Wade's tears down his throat as his eyes shut and the space between the ridges of his brows tensed like he was close to _sobbing._

Peter pulled off of him _one last time,_ rock hard and trying not to force Wade into anything he might not want but _hoping with an ardent need that Wade would let him taste him again_. 

"Say no to me, Wade," he mumbled. "Just one little word." 

He felt like his sanity was fading as Wade trembled and his voice broke out in a sob when he took in those words, the frenetic, tearful demand from Wade's lips-- _"Don't you fucking stop. I'd rather die than have you stop--"_ Peter did his best to relax his throat and take Wade in as _deep as he could_ in the next moment. 

Wade was crying and tugging at Peter's hair, trembling and thrusting into his mouth with fragmented bursts of energy, fucking Peter's mouth as he kept his lips locked around Wade’s cock. He gripped at the back of Peter's hair and shoved him down with a wild abandon, eyes squeezed shut and gasped breaths that his own lungs couldn't actually support while Peter looked up at him and let himself be used for Wade's satisfaction, reaching a hand down to touch himself and rock frantically into his hand while trying to remember how to _breathe around his mouthful._

Wade thrust into him repeatedly, shaking, crying, and whining as his voice broke apart and his chest rose unsteadily. Peter could _taste his heartbeat on his tongue._

It took five more minutes for Wade to finish, to hold Peter down against his lower abdomen as he jolted upward, his thighs covered in the cum leaking from Peter's lips, as his eyelids fluttered and he buckled forward for a split second-- his back arching off the ground and his hips rocking up against Peter's face-- before he went _limp_ on the cold altar floor, eyes shut and arms slipping from the home they'd made for themselves in Peter's curls. 

Peter pulled off of Wade with a series of coughs, grabbing at his throat and wiping at his eyes as a tear rolled down his cheek. It took him a moment to realize that the struggle to breathe had caused more of a reaction in him than anticipated. 

He smiled a bit, licking his lips and wiping himself and Wade down with the remaining scraps of the nun apparel. 

Peter was still hard, but he would have to take care of that later… right then his priority was making Wade feel comfortable after everything he had put him through. Wade would be sore and pained when he woke up, and Peter couldn't very well let him sleep on the floor. 

He knelt by Wade's side, gently slipping one arm under Wade's knees and the other under his shoulders, lifting him and picking up all of Wade's discarded bits of clothes and both their shoes before standing and making his way down the left aisle towards his bedroom. 

It was only after he cleaned Wade up with a wet towel and tucked him into his sheets that Peter allowed himself to retreat to the bathroom and discard his robe. He wiped down his face in the sink and then set about taking care of his… _problem._

  
  


__________Wade POV_____________

Wade was used to waking up alone, but it was disorienting when he couldn’t even remember falling asleep let alone when his mind still thought Peter’s lips were wrapped around him. 

His dick twitched and Wade sighed into the pillow beneath his head, ignoring his impure thoughts because he felt sore all over and wouldn’t be able to handle another orgasm much less actively try to achieve one. There had to be a limit somewhere, a number of mind blowing orgasms that would cause someone’s heart to give out. 

He decided instead to take in Peter’s room, the sparse decorations, minimal furniture was all cherry wood and simple, and a nice mirror over the drawer chest. Wade avoided looking at the mirror and instead at the pretty, built-in bookshelf on Peter’s north wall. There were a myriad of religious books on the top shelf, but several that weren’t on those beneath and-- Wade breathed in quietly, heart beating a little faster as he looked at the little snow globes all along Peter’s middle shelf. 

Not all of them were of a winter design. Wade always told Peter when he was going out of town, he always let him know when he had another missing person’s case. The first time, back when Wade was only a little interested and not quite yet enamored with the priest of his dreams, Wade bought him a snow globe souvenir from Geneva. It had been a simple trinket from the airport but when Wade handed it over to express his appreciation for Peter’s effort in welcoming him to the church, Peter had smiled so softly, so _innocently. It was a_ s if his emotions were too bright to hide behind his heart and he couldn’t help displaying how touched he was that he’d impacted Wade’s life, his faith, even as early on in their first couple months of knowing each other. 

Wade never stopped buying him snow globes. Tiny ones, medium sized ones, larger ones that he had to threaten airport security for just so he could be allowed to bring them back for Peter, to show him that the impact he had on Wade’s life had never diminished. It never faded, but it never became a true devotion to God, not so much as it was a devotion to Father Parker himself. 

He turned away from them, hand over his heart as he tried to calm himself down. He knew Father Parker wanted him, and he should have known that such a warm reaction meant Peter would treasure the little souvenirs that cost Wade nothing more than a few bucks per visit. He shouldn’t have been so surprised, so helplessly in love that it sent a pang rushing through his chest as he thought of what Peter might do in the morning, of whether or not he would try walking away from Wade as if their encounter had never happened, as if Wade was-- as he’d always been for previous partners-- a mistake. Maybe he’d realized it on the altar when Wade fainted. Maybe that’s why he wasn’t in bed with Wade. _And yet._ Why would he have draped Wade with his sheets and carried him to his mattress in the first place if Wade was truly unwanted. 

He resolved to take his chances. He decided he would go find Peter, search the church, the bathroom, the kitchens, anywhere hoping Peter hadn’t decided that breaking his vows in one setting meant that breaking them for a drink wasn’t any worse. 

Wade approached the bathroom door with a palpable sense of relief sinking into his ribs as he realized there was light emanating from beneath the crack near the floor. 

Without further prompting or hesitation, Wade turned the hand-crafted silver doorknob and opened the door, freezing after taking a single step inside as he saw the vision of his dreams, of his Catholic-tempting desires spread out before him. 

Peter was leaning against the sink, sweaty and flushed, alabaster skin presenting a pretty pink that Wade could only have ever dreamed of before. Peter stood there, underwear long discarded as he pumped away at his cock furiously, the wet sound of his thrusts into his own fist as he kept his eyes closed and mouthed Wade’s name making Wade throw caution to the wind. 

He was exhausted. He’d passed out from over sensitivity only a half hour before, yet he still gripped Peter’s hips and brought their bodies together in a desperate rut against the sink, biting lightly at the hollow of Peter’s throat to leave bruises that matched his own while feeling Peter’s hot pants against his temple as Peter thrust forward frantically against Wade’s abdomen. His hands dragged against either side of Wade’s neck, just beneath his jaw to turn his face up and tongue filthily against his bottom lip. Wade opened his mouth, gasping in a disjointed rhythm as Peter sucked on his tongue the way Wade had earlier, dragging the muscle against Wade’s _teeth_ and breathing him in like he was Peter’s first glass of whiskey after a decade of sobriety. 

Wade wasn’t quite strong enough then, exhaustion lacing his frame even as he jolted against Peter’s hip. He couldn’t return the favor and lift Peter up into his arms and make him experience nirvana, but Wade threw himself into every touch, dragging his pretty, manicured nails down Peter’s back. The tip of his finger ran along Peter’s spine and made him shiver, so Wade kissed him harder, devouring him in every hot, traded breath between them as Wade wrapped his arms around Peter’s waist, feeling the erratic thrusts against the side of his hip and smiling into their make out session. Slowly, he guided them toward the bathroom doorway, down the three foot hallway and into Peter’s room, grinding against him all the while and barely gripping onto his self-control until they made it to the edge of Peter’s bed. 

He fisted his hand at the base of Peter’s hair, pulling lightly and getting Peter to retreat from the kiss with a cute, annoyed little expression. 

Peter had ruined him on the altar of the Lord. Now it was Wade’s turn to take control. 

“Wade, _fuck,_ why did you stop-” 

Wade swiftly crouched down and hooked his arms behind Peter’s knees, lifting him as Peter shouted in protest and then _threw him onto the bed._

Peter landed with a shocked exhale of air, staring at Wade wide-eyed as a vibrant hue of red grew across his cheekbones. 

Wade spread his legs, lifting one knee to climb up on the mattress as he held Peter’s stare with his own, lifting the other a moment later and crawling into Peter’s lap. His nails scratched light little patterns against Peter’s chest, his pinky nail just skimming Peter’s right nipple. 

Peter went quiet, lips parted as he watched Wade settle over him, thighs spread wide as he ground forward, one palm weighing down Peter’s chest to keep him from moving as Wade slowly thrust forward, goosebumps rising on his skin. 

“Wade,” Peter whispered. 

Wade shook his head once, before replying in an equally hushed toned, afraid to break the fragile atmosphere that lingered over their bodies. 

“I’m too sore for much else, but… let me do the work this time, Father, I--” 

“Peter.” 

The word was spoken so softly, so lightly, but Wade bit his lip and nodded, looking down at the man that had finally given him the right to call him by his name without taking advantage of his kind nature, of the fact that Peter wouldn’t deny him. For so long Wade tried to resist calling Peter by his given name, tried not to step over that boundary. He failed far more often than he was proud of but now Peter lay beneath him, gave Wade control, and allowed him to take liberties no other man or woman had been afforded since his vows. 

Wade rolled his hips, his movements broken and stuttering as he felt himself twitch against Peter’s skin. Everything ached; it all hurt as he bit the inside of his cheek and rocked forward once, twice, three times, trying to keep eye contact with Peter before finally letting his eyes shut because the look Peter was giving him-- as if Wade was worth much more than Peter’s morals-- was too much. 

He shifted forward, his eyes snapping open when Peter took his free hand and linked their fingers together before lifting their arms over his head and, subsequently, dragging Wade down against him. 

Wade’s hips rocked forward almost mindlessly as he felt his nipples brush against Peter’s when they collided. 

Wade squirmed to get back into his riding position, but Peter gripped his hand tight and kept their arms lifted, linked above his head as he moved forward and tasted Wade’s lips again. Wade couldn’t help sighing into it, lips brushing against Peter’s in soft little touches that were mingling with quiet panting. He felt almost embarrassed by how easily he gave in, how Peter could simply hold his hand and Wade became a mess of emotions against him, dragging his tongue against Peter’s in a slow exploration that ended with a string of saliva between their gasps that Peter leaned forward to retrieve and swallow. He then began to nibble at Wade’s bottom lip as his hips started moving. 

Wade felt exhausted. Every muscle felt like it was weighed down with lead, but Peter was so comfortable to lay against, so warm and beautiful and soft and Wade-- Wade let Peter take the reins back. He felt Peter bending his knees over the bed to thrust upward gently, to lightly bounce Wade’s ass in his lap as they ground against each other. Wade felt his calves and inner thighs trembling and _burning_ with the strain of how long he’d been in this spread position. 

He let Peter taste him, drag his free hand down Wade’s side in a delicate caress that shifted into an obscene motion as he grabbed Wade’s right ass cheek, squeezing at his flesh while he squeezed Wade’s hand at the same time, chuckling when Wade jolted forward and whined on his tongue. 

He let Peter’s fingers go further, prodding lightly at his rim as Wade trembled and instinctively shifted back onto the digits, crying out when Peter’s index finger breached him and sagged in relief as Peter retreated, feeling a confusing mix of relief and disappointment. 

He didn’t have the energy to keep a filter on himself, too tired and too frustratingly turned on for his needy mind to function properly as he mumbled, “God, fuck _me,_ ” against Peter’s jaw.

Peter paused his movements for a second, _one agonizingly painful and insanity-causing second,_ before he started the slow, measured thrust up against Wade’s hip again, bouncing Wade over his lap again and squeezing his hand. “Shhh, I know, Sweetheart. I know. You’re gonna get hurt if we go again.” 

Wade nodded, the tip of his nose brushing against the corner of Peter’s jaw as he pleaded, “Please, _please--”_

He wouldn’t be able to handle it, he knew that, but the inability to finish again was murdering him from the inside and made him feel almost unhinged as he thrusted forward with violently trembling legs, thighs warm against Peter’s hips. 

Peter nibbled at the shell of Wade’s ear, just teasing at it as Wade tried to focus on one sensation but got a flood of _hips, a hand alternating between squeezing its prize and dipping into the cleft of his ass to rub circles around his rim, fingers tightly linked between his own. There was pain in his shoulder as he kept his arm stretched where Peter wanted it, his chest aching where it brushed along Peter’s and sparked little fires along those newly acquired bruises. The little pulses of electricity that ran along his spine as Peter kept mouthing at the shell of his ear, just below it, against the side of his throat were driving him insane. Peter was diving down to scrape his teeth gently along Wade’s collarbone as Wade shook above him, unsure if his body was welcoming a new orgasm or still shivering from the aftershocks of the previous one._

Peter’s hand suddenly slid up Wade’s hip, fingertips brushing all along Wade’s free arm and linking those fingers with his too, lifting their joined hand over his head so that Wade was stretched out over him and shaking, breathing ragged and damn near broken, his heart beating so fast it felt like it might stop if Peter Parker only requested it. 

“Wade, _Wade, Wade,”_ Peter breathed. “Just move with me, Baby, just a little more. One last time, Wade. Just--” 

Peter’s breath cut out into a groan as Wade shifted forward, squeezing Peter’s hands hard enough to hurt them both so he could _focus._

_“Just like that--”_

Wade jolted forward again. He could feel Peter’s precum painting his hip and the feeling of _power and confidence,_ the knowledge that _he did that--_ it gave him strength. It gave him motivation. It filled him more than any religious scripture had ever managed to, and he writhed forward, shaking as he lifted himself up a bit. With his hands still linked in Peter’s, he dragged his priest’s arms down by his sides, watching Peter’s shoulders shake, watching his chest rise and fall rapidly as he huffed out breathy little exhales that Wade would have stopped to taste if he had any energy to spare. 

“Just-- _Jesus fuck, Wade--”_

Wade felt-- he felt _high._ It almost felt like he’d gone off the deep end, ended up on a bad trip that ate at his soul. He found himself squeezing Peter’s hands in his own so hard that both their grips turned white as Wade ground down against Peter like this would be the only time he was afforded such a gift. He felt that he could lose himself in the quiet grace of Peter Parker and never ask for his soul back. He didn’t need it. Peter could-- Peter could _have_ it if Wade could have him to himself. 

Wade disintegrated. There was a moment where he knew what reality was and then a moment where the world around him no longer registered, where Peter and Peter’s skin, and Peter’s hands and _Peter’s thighs and Peter, Peter, Peter_ were all that existed. 

He couldn’t even produce anything as he finished, an orgasm ripping its way out of his throat with no evidence to show for itself. Wade felt himself falling, but every little sound and motion Peter made _did_ register in his hazy mind. 

He felt spasms beneath him, heard a magled cry of his name tangled with God’s, and smiled as he fell onto Peter’s chest, realizing that when he fell apart-- Peter fell apart too. 

  
  


________Peter POV__________

They lay in the dark for a while, just learning to breathe normally again, utterly failing to move away from each other. Peter knew that if he wanted to take it all back, Wade would let him. If he let go of his hand right now, Wade would take that as a final sign of rejection. 

The issue was that Peter would lose his faith entirely if he lost Wade Wilson.

"I'm resigning from the church." 

He glanced to the side, at Wade's eyes, surprised he’d even said the words aloud that he hadn't planned to speak up about tonight.

Wade looked... stunned, as if he had expected this to be a one time thing, as if he was completely prepared for Peter to toss him aside after realizing he was a mistake. Peter couldn't understand how a man as caring, as resilient, as dedicated and _alive_ as Wade Wilson could ever think so little of his worth. 

Wade swallowed then. He looked like he might cry and Peter wanted to comfort him, to apologize for his words, except there were no better words for him to offer, no deeper confession of his affection than the promise of his resignation, of his choice to leave everything behind for a life at Wade's side. 

He could do nothing but wait for Wade to respond, to choose the right words until finally he choked out an emotional, "Okay. Sounds-- sounds good." 

Peter met his eyes and pulled him close, wrapping his arms around Wade's shoulders and pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead, shifting a little higher on his pillow to tuck Wade's head under his chin before murmuring, "Yeah... it does."

Peter wasn’t entirely sure when he started falling asleep. Truthfully, he’d been exhausted long before they reached the mattress. He just knew he felt his clarity slipping away from him under the weight of his lover, to the soft, comforting sound of Wade's breathing. 

___________________________________

  
  


Waking up in a bed that wasn’t his own was always an odd and disorienting experience… right up until Wade realized _whose bed he’d slept in._ Then, it felt like he was exactly where he belonged: in Peter’s bed, under his sheets, wrapped up in his arms with his head tucked under Peter’s chin. 

He stood up with the intent to clean himself, to maybe wash up in the shower or perhaps get dressed and bring Peter something to eat; he was certain his priest missed dinner the night before because of him-- not that Wade regretted his actions in the slightest. 

He was putting on one of the shirts from Peter's drawer chest when he caught sight of his exposed chest in the mirror and the collection of purples and pink spattered across his scars, like overlapping paintings-- except he knew which work of art contained more beauty. 

He was so focused on the sight of himself, his old wounds and the way he liked the evidence of Peter Parker's desire for him on his neck, that he didn't notice Peter's approach until he felt strong arms encircling his waist from behind, coming together at the very bottom of his abdomen, just over his cock. The touch _instantly_ caused a reaction as Peter's lips pressed softly at the back of his neck, tongue peeking out momentarily to taste him. 

"You look like you have regrets," Peter mumbled, nosing along the area where Wade's shoulder met his neck, pressing a kiss just beneath his ear before meeting his gaze in the mirror and murmuring, "I can only hope I'm not among them." 

Wade let himself rest back against Peter, his throat bared for his viewing, giving him complete access and he laughed quietly as he closed his eyes. "I could never regret you." 

He couldn't see Peter's smile, but he could feel the way his lips parted over his skin, the small amused huff loud beside his ear. He opened his eyes and looked back down at his scars, a frown settling on his face once more. 

Peter looked at Wade's reflection too, a little furrow in his brow as he tried to understand what Wade was upset about. Wade was so in love with the man that it _hurt._ He was the only person that _ever_ looked at Wade that way-- as if his scars were nothing to be ashamed of, as if he had no reason to hide them, as if they were something worth _worshipping._

And then Peter let go of him, sending a myriad of confusing thoughts and assumptions running through Wade's mind until Peter retrieved a small jewelry box from his nightstand. 

Wade turned to watch as Peter opened it and gasped when he realized what was inside of it. 

Peter had worn it _once,_ only one single time, and Wade had longed to see him use the intricate piece every year since. 

In his hand was a golden rosary, a necklace with thin beads of pure gold with a single diamond embedded in each prayer bead. The rosary, like all traditional rosaries, ended with a strand of four spaced out beads to rest at the center of the chest… a gold metal chain shined in the light. At the heart of it lay a golden cross with a miniature sculpture of Jesus, a tiny ruby at the center of each of his palms and feet. 

It was _beautiful_ and Wade couldn’t even imagine how much it was worth. He loved seeing it in Peter’s hands, a jewel worthy of him and the _light_ he brought into people’s lives, into Wade’s. 

Wade waited for Peter to put it on, to wear it and model it for him with nothing else on his body. 

But Peter didn’t place the necklace over his own shoulders. 

Instead, he came up behind Wade, grabbed his hips, the rosary brushing against his scars and making him shiver at its cold temperature-- at the knowledge that something so _sacred_ and valuable was being used to tease him. 

He expected a game, a fantasy. 

Peter only kissed his shoulder blade as his eyes fell shut, turning Wade back toward the mirror and slowly opening his eyes again, meeting Wade’s curious gaze. Tentatively, he raised the rosary in his left hand, beads gliding against Wade’s abdomen, brushing over the center of his chest as Peter unhooked the clasp for it, taking a small step back to reconnect it behind the nape of Wade’s neck as his lips parted in shock, eyes watering in the silence of the morning. 

The chain of gold rested lightly over his collar bones, the rubies glimmering in the soft light that poured in through the curtains, and Wade took hold of the edge of the dresser, laughing lightly-- disbelievingly-- when Peter’s hands drifted softly over his and he linked their fingers. 

Peter hooked his chin over Wade’s shoulder, nuzzling his jaw with half-shut eyes before staring at the reflection of his bruises and scars now adorned with gold and jewels. He smiled, a pleased, satisfied grin as he let go of one of Wade’s hands to delicately take hold of the pendant and turn it towards the light, grinning softly at the way the sunlight caught the jewels and cast colorful little patterns on Wade’s chest. 

He kissed Wade’s jaw, a slow, deliberately gentle kiss that had Wade inhaling quietly, sighing at the comfort it brought him to feel settled in Peter’s arms. 

“It looks good on you,” Peter murmured. 

Wade looked forward again, his reflection staring back at him as he took in the scars, the burns, the fact that his skin was more scar tissue than it was normal. He couldn’t figure out what it was that Peter found attractive in him, but he resigned himself to the relief of knowing that Peter _just did._ He beamed and focused on keeping his emotions at bay even as the knowledge of Peter’s feelings sunk in. Peter… he had worn the necklace _once_ and whenever Wade asked about it, Peter had looked into his eyes before turning away, claiming he wasn’t worthy of adorning an artifact of the Lord.

Peter, _of all people,_ believed _Wade_ was worthy. 

  
He didn’t think he could ever live up to that belief, but… if Peter Parker was his reward, Wade would _never_ stop trying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, I'm back at it again! This, ah, kind of got away from me and grew much larger than I thought it would be? Thot!Wade was supposed to be a 5k maaaaaaybe 10k fic max and, oh, look at that, I pulled an irresponsible stunt again. Oops. Big oof. 
> 
> But Jenn, oh my gosh, thank you, you're everything, couldn't have posted this without your input and big fixes again I'm so so so sorry for the typos and the run ons and the trash in between. Please feel free to yeet me into the sun, I won't blame you, you've earned it. 
> 
> ANYWAY. Hope you guys had fun reading! This is the only nsfw writing piece I've done so far that I feel extremely 1000% proud of, thirst was real. 
> 
> Much love, 
> 
> Katana.


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